


Addio, mia dolce terra! Addio, mia California!

by LaRondine (messier31)



Category: La Fanciulla del West | The Girl of the Golden West - Puccini/Civinini & Zangarini
Genre: California, Coda, Cowboys, Cowboys n Cowboyin, F/M, Historical, Historical Accuracy, Historical References, Missing Scene, Operas, POV Third Person, Post-Canon, Puccini, opera fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:28:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26379577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/messier31/pseuds/LaRondine
Summary: A scene with Johnson and Minnie, shortly after act 3.
Relationships: Dick Johnson | Ramerrez/Minnie





	Addio, mia dolce terra! Addio, mia California!

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in one sitting on Easter, April 23 2019, in an email draft. it was the first LFDW story I ever wrote, so some of the details don't *really* line up with others that I've established, but it has such a dear spot in my heart. asdfbhjkl it's not even edited I literally pasted in from a 2 year old email hahaha~
> 
> to the future!
> 
> xox and all my love, la rondine

The bartender set down the glass he was wiping, and when he looked up, they were there: a man and a woman, both road-weary, wearing travel clothes- the man in a black coat and hat, the woman wearing a blouse, brown vest and matching hat. Although he could not see past their waists, he was almost certain that both were wearing chaps. A most curious pair, he thought. 

He did not recognize either, though this was hardly uncommon. The small saloon was the only stop for miles on the long road, rendering it a frequent stop for travelers heading north, to Oregon, or south, to Sacramento. Passers-by often outnumbered the 'regulars' of his bar. 

He smiled. "What'll it be?" he asked cheerfully. The woman smiled back, though the darkness in her eyes did not match her expression. The man did not smile at all, his eyes mirroring the tired, hollow look of his companion's. 

"Two whiskeys, neat, and two glasses of water," the woman replied quietly, and the bartender nodded. The man leaned close to her to whisper, and she pressed into him anxiously to listen before nodding tightly. They fell silent after, and as the bartender passed them their drinks, he started to wonder. Perhaps they were robbers, or outlaws on the run! Their demeanor was that of a hunted animal- wary, fearful, as tense as a coiled snake. 

The door banged open as a large group of men- more travelers, perhaps a group migrating south to the mountains- entered the tavern. The bartender's attention was pulled not to the men, but to the couple in front of him. Both had jumped, and he could have sworn he heard a frightened gasp. They'd both reached for their guns, both trembling with anticipation- or fear. 

From across the counter, the bartender watched with curiosity as the woman leaned over, whispered to the man, and waited as he seemed to survey the room around him. He shook his head, visibly relaxing, and the woman sat back down at the response, clearly put at ease by what the man had seen- or perhaps not seen. 

He served the men who'd just entered, whiskeys and cigars all around, but still his curiosity lingered on the odd, quiet pair sitting at his bar. Under the guise of wiping down glasses, he studied them closer, seeing for the first time the dark circles under the woman's eyes, like pale bruises on her otherwise pretty face, and the dark, unshaven scruff of a beard on her companion. A wisp of blond hair seemed to struggle loose from under her broad hat, and as she nursed the whiskey, it slipped into her face for a moment before she hurriedly brushed it behind her ear. Beside her, the man held his glass. He placed his arm over her shoulders protectively, though with some difficulty, as though there was some old injury that still ached in his bones today. Or perhaps, as pain flashed across the man's face and the woman looked up in concern, a much more recent injury. Again the bartender's mind jumped to speculation- bandits, injured in a gunfight! Or perhaps bootleggers, and the man had been stabbed in a late night raid on the goods! 

A tapping on the bar and a holler roused him from idle fantasy, and he realized he'd been wiping the same glass and staring at the quiet couple for entirely too long. He fetched another bottle of whiskey and busied himself making conversation with the men, who were indeed heading to the Sierra Nevadas to seek their fortune in gold.

The story was the same as all the rest, their eyes set on the legendary hills of gold, a fortune for every man, a life of ease and contentment. He smiled and nodded and kept the whiskey flowing. These men, just like so many before them, were so certain that riches awaited them that they had little reservation in spending- for certainly they would make it up, and a hundredfold at that! Well, the bartender couldn't attest to what might have been in those mountains, but as long as it kept the doors open and the bills paid, he was happy to agree with whatever promises those fabled mountains had made. 

They were whispering together again, the man and the woman, their heads close and voices low. The bartender set aside the glasses he'd been cleaning and began to wipe down the counter, moving slowly closer to them under the pretense of polishing the ever-dirty wooden surface. 

Straining his ears to hear their quiet words over the shouts, music and chatter, the bartender could only pick out fragments- 

"Oregon, yes, Oregon," the woman said, her soft voice full of passion nonetheless. Across the room someone laughed, and he could no longer hear their words. The man smiled at her, the first time he had done so, and in the brief instant his face was transformed into another man's, a man with hope and love and joy in his heart. The bartender looked away quickly but kept wiping, creeping closer. 

"The men will... following..." said the man, his voice dipping so quiet it became inaudible, though the woman still nodded. "And Rance?" he asked slightly louder. The bartender wasn't sure who or what this Rance was, but it clearly troubled the woman. Her brow creased, and she was silent for a moment before she shook her head. 

"No, so long as we stay away... won't mind us...can never return..." Her voice had taken on a sadder tone as the bartender stepped away, wiping his way back to the large group on the opposite end of the room, and the conversation fell out of earshot. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man shift, pulling his -perhaps injured- arm off the woman's shoulder and placing it on her hand on the counter. She smiled, genuinely this time, the bartender was certain, and interlaced her fingers with the man's before resting her head on his shoulder- a slightly awkward maneuver given she was as tall as him and wearing a hat, but affectionate nonetheless. 

The man stroked her hand with his thumb and looked around the saloon. A second too late, the bartender looked away- but the man had already caught his eye and waved him down. Feigning disinterest and trying to conceal that he'd been listening, the bartender smiled warmly. 

"Another whiskey, sir? Ma'am? Anything else I can get you?" 

Clearly more at ease than he was earlier, the man smiled back and pulled out a billfold. "No, sir, but thank you. How much?" 

Relieved, the bartender named the price and the man pulled out the correct amount. After thanking them, he decided there was little real harm in trying to sate his ever-growing curiosity about the pair. 

"You folks passing through?" 

The woman nodded and opened her mouth before closing it, as though she was uncertain what to respond. Hoping the whiskey had loosened her lips a little, the bartender pressed onward.

"Heading North or South?" 

The question, through it seemed innocent enough, seemed to alarm the two, and they turned to each other. A wordless agreement seemed to pass between them, and the woman answered, "South, to Sacramento and the mountains," before smiling thinly. 

"We've come for the gold," the man added, nodding. His lips quirked into an amused smile- a peculiar reaction, the bartender noted, though the woman's similar reaction to the statement made it seem benign more than anything else, an odd shared joke or the like. 

Well, the explanation made enough sense, thought the bartender, and he didn't really care that much as to question it more. He supposed that maybe, they were just sort of a keep-to-yourself kind of people. Though, if they were going to Sacramento, what had the talk of Oregon been about? 

Maybe he'd simply misunderstood. He smiled warmly and said simply, "Best of luck in the future to you, sir, ma'am." He nodded at each of them in turn. 

Both smiled back and thanked him. The woman held up her glass, just about a finger of whiskey left in it. The man, too, held up his glass, though his only seemed to have some water in it- or had he mixed the whiskey in his water?- and toasted her, their glasses clinking cheerfully. 

"To the future," he said, his eyes warm and adoring. 

"To our future," she replied, beaming back at him. 

They both drained their glasses, and smiled at each other for a moment before kissing. The bartender looked away, whistling nonchalantly as he wiped out another glass. 

They left shortly after, hand-in-hand, slipping out together into the indigo night. He watched them go, eyes trailing the two hats as they darted through the rowdy crowd in the saloon, through the twin doors and finally out of sight. 

Yes, a most curious pair, for certain. Across the bar, someone whistled, and the bartender turned to smile and serve the next customer.


End file.
